Harry Potter and the Werewolf's Wand
by Tyringpretilly
Summary: Harry is a fresh Auror grad. Order 1:A werewolf in the North doesn't seem too tricky, but that all changes as Harry reels in the bait. The tables are turned, Harry is a wet-behind-the-ears recruit, and this assignment is not going to plan... Features Harry continuing his learning curve, definitely not overpowered, filled with adventure and let's hope for some romance further on!
1. Chapter 1

It was dark.

It had been for awhile. He didn't know what time it was, and to be honest, was too shite-scared to risk a _timeus_ charm. He closed his eyes to try to control his breathing, and did a mental stock-take. Cold, muddy, he'd ripped a hole in one of his boots, but he was still armed. By law, all Aurors were required to be armed with both wand and knife, the wand chose the wizard of course, but the wizard chose his knife. Harry's even _looked_ quiet, and sharp. It was dark, and only reflected light mutely. This trait was highly regarded in his profession. He was supposed to be deadly, charming, intelligent. Supposed. Because at this moment Harry didn't feel much like an Auror; his clothes were soaked, and his ripped boot seemed to laugh at him with every step. He'd hopelessly lost his target in this forest somewhere North of Suffolk. Thetford, or Theftord, or something.

There was a whisper of a noise on his left, if he didn't imagine it. He strained his senses, then heard it again after what seemed an eternity. Whatever it was, It was either a wee distance away, or it was bloody good at sneaking. His pulse, if possible, doubled. This felt leagues away from his training, where he could slip into a concentrated mode, and stay calculating and accurate no matter what his assessors threw at him. He struggled to find that same mental spot, as he numbly looked around. He could dimly see the closest tree trunk to his right, he stepped towards it like a mouse in a kitchen, then slowly eased himself around to the opposite side, and ducked down towards the ground. He was lucky he was so damp - it did help in this place to keep his steps silent.

He was just in time.

The air crackled with electricity, and the clearing where Harry had recently stood exploded with light, and an angry heat which seared him even from his hiding spot. Ozone filled his nostrils, and he risked a peak around his tree. The ground all around was sooty, the grass he could make out was frizzled black, and in the distance there were two slight glints of light. _Eyes._ They came closer, swinging sideways a strange amount, taller than any man Harry knew, and they no longer cared about being quiet. Within seconds it was in the clearing. Its hideous and hairy elongated paw thudded down and crushed the burnt twigs and pine needles. The rest of the creature was no prettier. Seven foot at least, and hulking, its inhuman face was stretched painfully somewhere between a man's and a wolfs. Patchy, matted fur clustered in lumps about its head, but in the split second Harry had looked, he'd noticed something much more terrifying. Clutched in its right paw, was a wand.

A werewolf, capable of cognizant thought to hold a wand and cast powerful magic? Harry had had a fair amount of experience with werewolves prior, he remembered in a flash the night that Wormtail had escaped, and Remus prowled the grounds of Hogwarts, he was certain that Remus had been completely out of his own control.

Meanwhile, he could hear the werewolf lower its monstrosity of a head, and sniff the ground in great, heaving breaths. His scent! Had he masked his scent? Had that been why the monster had been able to find and almost kill him? Harry had to risk it, that or inevitably be sniffed out. Sneaking his wand out he pointed it at his shoes, and in his tiniest whisper uttered " _pheromorphus_ ".

All noise from the werewolf stopped. Harry froze, holding a breath. He did not dare look around, or move at all. Seconds stretched endlessly, but finally the werewolf moved to again try to pick up his scent. Time was still stuck in treacle, the beast moved around and around the clearing heaving and snuffling, once moving right towards Harry's tree, before turning at the last instant and continuing on. But Harry James Potter had always seemed unnaturally lucky, and as the sky began to lighten to pre-dawn, the werewolf gave up the hunt, to return to its safe haven before transforming.

He'd waited about another hour without moving, just to be sure. It was practical too, as it gave a chance for all the adrenaline in his system to settle down, that's what the textbooks from the Ministry told him. A werewolf with a wand? There was certainly nothing he'd ever seen or read to give him any clues on that. Of course, he knew the basic details - the werewolf was his target, one Raff Bardolf. It was Harry's first sighting of him transformed, but the resemblance was obvious in the red-auburn patchy beard that adorned Raff's ugly mug in the rough sketch Harry had gotten of him. He had been described as a rather shoddy wizard, with a rather shoddier but long record for petty crime. The lycanthropy disease was new to him, having been bitten just two months ago, but he had already caused nuisance around the woods. Sheep carcasses had been found by farmers, and then a rather unfortunate sighting by a muggle had occurred. The body had been quite unrecognisable, and hence why the Aurors were now involved. A young werewolf was not hugely dangerous for a wizard, being only just stronger than a normal man, and therefore perfect for a new Aurors first assignment.

Perfect. Harry began walking to town. "Just bloody perfect."

The sun shone weakly, and was no comfort to the trudging wizard. As he walked, the prior night hardly felt real. He was completely flummoxed, not only about being hunted instead of a hunter, not only about the werewolf seeming sentient, but also about how powerful that spell had been. The top of Harry's right ear throbbed from where it had been burnt, and he didn't even recall hearing an incantation. Did werewolves have an inherent magic ability? He shuddered. They already had gigantic maws and claws, what else did they need?

Quite quickly, the forest ended, and coming over a slight rise the town below was visible. It was a fairly unremarkable one. It had the standard smattering of shops, houses and garages, but was dominated by the larger farms that stood all the way around it, excluding the forest he was walking from. The hills rolled for miles around, looking unrealistically green in the spring clime. Harry glumly took his time, knowing he'd be safe until nightfall. He received several perplexed looks on his way to his motel, and once finally there languished in the rooms low-pressure shower, then sunk into the bed.

Several hours later, he awoke, a blurry-eyed mess. The sun was much lower in the sky, probably late afternoon. The first port of call was a piping hot cup of tea. The next, was to call the DMLE (Department of Magical Law Enforcement) and see what the blazes was up with this contract. In a slightly more polite way. Of course.

The room lacked a fireplace, instead Harry used the gas heater - the flames worked rather well for this and a bonus was he didn't get covered in soot. He threw over a pinch of Floo powder, and stuck his head right in. He'd never get used to the tickly sensation of the flames licking around his face. He only had to wait a short while to see the visage of his superior, stooping in her office fireplace at the Ministry. As usual, (stooping or otherwise) Amelia Bones looked professional, highly groomed and stern.

"Harry Potter, I see you're still in one piece, prove identity and report."

"Harry James Potter, IC thirty-one, two-oh-six, theta axii. Ma'am, I've encountered an issue with my assignment..."


	2. The hunt begins anew!

"Are you sure, Agent Potter? This is not just a case of amateur nerves and an overactive imagination?"

Harry bristled slightly, "I'm sure, Ma'am, it was a wand, he used it while transformed."

Amelia lowered herself to sit neatly in front of the fire. She took her time, allowing a moment to ponder the situation. Normally, she'd just tell them to get the bloody job done, but Harry was just a week out of training, and if his suspicions were correct...it might be something they'd never dealt with before. Plus, it would look bad if they lost the famous Potter on his first mission out.

"Alright Potter, I'm sending in some reinforcements with this." Harry looked like he was about to argue, so she continued quickly;

"No, Potter, whatever you're about to say - I don't care. If, and I do mean, _if_ , you are correct then this is a phenomenon that we have yet to see. I cannot have a wet-behind-the-ears, just out of training Auror to wrestle with it. No, I will send Proudfoot to you. He will be briefed immediately and as the senior officer, will commence full control of the assignment. Hereby, you are to stand by until his arrival, and will complete any and all orders he gives you." Here, she softened slightly, "I know how much it means to young Aurors to prove themselves, but the success of the mission is always paramount, regardless of ego. You have all the time in the word to prove yourself, Potter, if you don't think you have already. But move in rashness, and forever all you'll have is a hole in the ground. Dismissed."

Harry flopped onto his backside, to say he was disappointed was an understatement. Like all new graduands, he'd been intensely eager for his first mission, to use all the raw skills just taught, to prove that it wasn't just luck with Voldemort, that he could hold his own, and didn't need a cohort of wizards around him to sacrifice themselves for him. He sipped his cooling tea, and wondered how everyone else was doing. Both Ron and Luna had graduated at the same time as Harry, as had Draco, which was even more surprising than Luna. The bitter dislike between them was still very prevalent, but the edges of the gulf were slightly improved, as Draco had found a talent for healing, and had specialised this area as part of his Auror training. Luna had specialised in potions, immensely helpful for duel preparations. Ron took interest in the more martial aspect of being an Auror, and the slightly tubby wizard at the end of Hogwarts battle had become fit and lean. Harry didn't have a specialisation. A topic which was slightly raw for him. He seemed a Jack of all Trades, his mother and father had excelled in Charms and Transfiguration, but Harry didn't have a particular knack for either. His wand-work was passable, as was his skills in survival and navigation. He could swim okay, he could interrogate suspects okay, but it seemed the only thing that had made him special was the fading scar on his forehead. Feeling particularly dejected and sorry for himself, he went downstairs to the pub in search of food.

An hour later and three quarters through some deliciously greasy fish 'n' chips, Harry felt the watch on his arm warm, this was a subtle form of communication inspired by the 'smart' watches of the muggles. Agent Proudfoot must have arrived, and so Harry wiped his mouth off and headed back up to his room. As he opened the door he was greeted by a sullen-looking wizard of about forty, with a keen intelligence in his eyes. They were piercingly blue, and shone right out of an otherwise plain face. He wasn't a large man, but still slightly taller than Harry, and wore deep purple robes, partnered with a leather belt that was inscribed with runes.

"I'll be honest with you, Potter; I don't believe you." Was his greeting.

"Yeah, I'd not have believed me, either. Did Bones tell you everything?"

"She told me the gist of it, but I'll need to go over your notes for the perp'."

"On the desk."

"Merlin, these scrawls are damn near unreadable. But I guess you did grow up with muggles…"

Harry looked sheepish but otherwise ignored the jab. It would do no good to get snooty with his senior officer.

"Hmpf, more detailed than I expected. Have you tracked his patterns, his haunts? Spoken to the public? Do you know his schedule? Anything unusual? Apart from the obvious."

Harry answered at once, almost mechanically. He was actually feeling better after the rest and food, and being heckled and tested reminded him of this training days, and so as he answered, he began to feel a little more in control.

"His most frequented place was this pub, hence why I rented the room atop. But a week ago he stopped coming. I spoke to the barman, who knows him by sight and name but nothing else. Says he buys the same drink each time. But nothing since last Tuesday. This is why I went out of town looking for him last night.

He has a drinking buddy, who still comes around every evening after five, I've tried several times to approach him, but found him...abrasive. I followed him to a house across town, looked ordinary. I watched it for a few hours, and saw nor heard nothing, there were no spells on the house that I could detect. He's either a muggle, or, very good at not using any magic at all, not even to refill his beer when the barkeep's not watching."

"Hmpf. Adequate. I guess a few things do sink into the thick skulls of the young." The skin at the corners of Proudfoots eyes crinkled, and Harry decided he quite liked this wizard. In a small way, the gruff-ness slightly reminded him of Moody, well, a decidedly less _mad_ Mad-Eye Moody.

"I was pulled off quite an important case to come here. My suspicions believe that this was probably no more than a trick of the eye, but my gut says Amelia wouldn't of wanted to completely waste my time. We're to do this by the book. We will check over your supplies and get ready to head out tonight and bring this Raff in, errant wands or nay."

The afternoon passed quickly as the wizards prepared themselves Harry had followed instructions and brewed up a non-too shabby Pepperup potion. It's be invaluable in the early hours of the morning and the steam from it helped keep the wizards bouncingly busy until then. Proudfoot had transfigured his fat shoes into more rugged waterproof boots. He'd then thudded downstairs to talk to the bartender himself. He returned with a map of the outlying town, which included the forest Harry had followed Raff into the previous night. They worked in relative silence, Harry watched carefully as Proudfoot used a spell ( _Topocodify!_ ) which turned the map 3D, and showed the lay of the land. Proudfoot had noticed his interest, and had taken a few minutes to show Harry the proper wand movements required for it. Proudfoots plan followed after - they would enter the forest in parallel, spread fifty metres out on either side of the suspect. The forest had been chosen as they could not chance apprehending the now high-risk target in the confines of the town with its many watching, very muggle, eyes. They would angle in slowly on approach, quietly moving in closer to Raff until in clear spell range, hopefully before true night fell and he transformed. There was no full moon tonight, but neither had there been last night when Raff had attacked. Both the Auror's knew of Fenrir Greyback, and how he'd been so close to the beast inside that the could for a transformation on any night. Raff seemed nothing like this, but they'd agreed that Raff was unpredictable as he was still so newly infected. Random transformations were still likely for at least the first six months, as the wolf inside matured from a pup, similar to how a newborns sleep patterns slowly normalised. Sneaking in close was a high priority, so they were equipped lightly, preferring to sneak ably than to be overburdened with equipment.

They traveled to the outskirts of town at dusk, spelling their clothes to not rustle, and Harry remembered this time to pre-emptively mask their scents. They took up positions apart and began to watch for Raff.


	3. The plot coagulates

Half an hour had passed, Harry was restless.

Perhaps they'd missed Raff already and he was now in the forest? Night was starting to settle in properly, the first stars were twinkling softly in the darkening sky. Then, a surprised yell from behind their position - Harry didn't make out the words because a half transformed werewolf came bursting out close on Harry's' right, bounding towards the forest.

 _Bollocks!_

Harry began rushing after Raff, after a few strides he caught the puffing of Proudfoot as he followed suit. He heard an incantation and was facedown on the ground. He recognised the Jelly-Legs curse instantly, but it had already been lifted as he hauled himself over to cast the counter.

"Harry, calm the heck down and stop chasing the bloody mutt! I'm going to track it, _you're_ getting back to town and see if he's bitten anyone. _Then_ you can join me after. _Do not_ forget the importance of casualties and crowd control. Idiot!" With that Proudfoot was off. With a thudding of boots he began closing on the forest.

Harry turned the opposite way and streaked back across the road they'd came from. He rounded the corner and passed the first brick houses when he saw it. A large dark lump on the footpath between the glow of the streetlights.

His shoes beat the pavement hard as he belted his way towards it. The lump moved and looked up at Harry as he approached - damn! A muggle, male, young. Probably a teenager on his way to try his luck at the pub.

"Are you OK?"

"What the _hell_ was that thing? Did you see it? It, it tried to bite me!"

Harry's heart froze. "Did you get you?"

The teenager shook his head, "It...it missed 'cause I fell over the curb.

I saw it, though, looked like a wild dog with man's legs..." the kid flustered.

Harry had to act quickly and get back to the forest to help Proudfoot. He roughly pulled the kid onto his feet and towards the streetlight ("Hey!") to inspect him properly.

He was clutching his elbow and moved gingerly on his left foot, his skin was white as a ghost but intact, Harry couldn't see any bites. He let go.

"It was just a feral dog, I'll call animal control, but I think you should see a doctor about that arm."

"Nah man, it wasn't a dog. I saw it, it was tall like a man, hairy, but...those teeth!" His look of panic tore at Harry, but he had no choice - this muggle has seen Raff half transformed and Harry was out of time.

"Hey, just. Just look at this for a second, OK?" With a glance around Harry checked his surroundings, seeing no one he took a breath to steady himself, pulled out his wand and muttered

" _Obliviate_ ".

The teen visibly relaxed, and Harry helped him to the ground as his legs gave way. A few seconds later a grimace of pain crossed the kids face. Harry stashed his wand.

"Hey man, are you OK? I saw you fall over just now, you might've blacked out or something. Can you walk? I think you've hurt your arm, you landed on it."

"Yeah, ow, it hurts, I don't remember...I must've had more than I thought tonight...thanks yeah I can walk." The teenager turn and slowly limped back down the road, Harry turned and forced himself to keep to a walk until his running wouldn't be heard. That kid would be sore, and Harry regretted leaving him alone, but thank goodness his life wouldn't be ruined by lycanthropy. Plus with everything going to plan tonight, there'd be no more risk to these muggles.

He was finally out of sight. He ran.

The forest hadn't seemed this far away before, as Harry ran towards it, panting. His legs burned as they pumped up the gentle incline towards the treeline. Here, Harry slowed to a walk. What little light there was provided from the moon would disappear completely once Harry was underneath the crowns of the trees. He needed direction, Proudfoot would have left him a trail, Harry just needed to _find_ it. With wand in hand, he held it very gently and passed it in different directions around him, until he felt a very subtle tug. He moved onwards, stopping about every twenty metres to recheck he was on track. He was now using his hands in front of him to help navigate, the trees were pressing in around him, making progress more difficult, and decreasing the amount of light even further. Harry took another step and was almost floored again by a tree root. He couldn't move quietly anymore, so casting a lumos wouldn't be a problem either.

As he cast the spell, he put as little 'umpf' into it as possible, creating a very dim illumination. His wand glowed instead of beaming. He'd learned this fairly recently at the Ministry, once a spell was mastered, there then followed different levels of control. Like this, his wand would help just enough to keep his face off of the forest floor, but would also not be a beacon to attract too much hostile attention to him. Unfortunately however, even this small glow wiped away any chance of Harry spotting Proudfoots, if he had indeed cast one. Harry remembered once watching a spy film as a kid - over Dudley's voluminous shoulders - and how they'd used red light instead of white, which would apparently not ruin ones night vision. Harry had had several attempts to try and cast a red lumos, but had been unsuccessful each time. 'Hermione would know', Harry thought, regretting that he hadn't sent an owl to his other best friend in weeks. He put her out of his mind; she was busy studying as an aid in the Ministry, and Harry knew he had to focus on the present, it wouldn't do any good if he was taken by surprise!

The 'tugs' on his wand were getting stronger, telling Harry that he was catching up on the chase.

Harry strained his ears desperate to hear any potential altercation in the distance. Just silence. The breathing through his nose seemed too loud. The tugging in his wand was very insistent now and he continued walking slowly and carefully forward.

Still no noise. This was odd, he thought.

Abruptly his wand stopped tugging. He had arrived? Harry furrowed his brow. There was nothing here. He looked down. A wand was at his feet. His heart skipped a beat, Proudfoot's wand. He swallowed hard and desperately turned around.

He came face to face with a wolfish grin towering above him.

Harry was speechless, his eyes widened. The beast breathed on him and with one sweep of his oversized muscular arm slammed him aside.

The amount of air Harry got was tremendous - it gave him plenty of time to ponder how this werewolf had managed to not only disarm a seasoned auror but get the drop on him so completely. Harry slammed into a tree, heavy. He was completely winded, it was utterly dark and he had no idea where he had lost his wand.

The past few years of training seemed to escape him and he wondered what he should be doing now. Focusing his eyes in front of him he saw two green reflective eyes coming towards him at speed but there was no sound. Not even so much as a heavy pant.

Harry's confusion trumped his fear and he could only sit there.

There was a tremendous crash and a pained howl.

Proudfoot had emerged from the trees and slammed himself bodily into the beast. The werewolf snapped angrily towards the Auror while limping on its front left paw. Proudfoot brought his arms up in a guard position. He seemed far too calm, he eyes were focused intently on the werewolfs.

Harry's hands scrambled around the dirt in front of him, struggling to discover his wand, his eyes transfixed on the battle.

The werewolf was clearly infuriated and made a lunge straight for Proudfoot who only took a small step to forward to avoid and punched the werewolf directly in its temple with his entire body behind it.

Harry's mouth fell open. He had never seen such an aggressive display from a wizard before. Belatedly he remembered that newborn werewolves were not much stronger than ordinary wizards, though he'd received a heavy blow.

The werewolf dropped heavily and it did not get up again.

Harry felt himself try to speak but nothing emerged.

Proudfoot wiped his nose with his arm. He removed his belt and tied the front and back legs of the beast together.

"Potter", he said.

Harry did not look away from the unconscious beast.

"Find my coat and bring it here. It should be around one of the trees here."

What would have happened if Proudfoot hadn't emerged? What an end for the famous Harry Potter… God Draco would have a laugh at him. Why was he thinking about _Draco_ now of all people he thought.

"Potter now rather than later!"

His coat, Proudfoot's coat. Right, yes. He rummaged around with his hands in the ground trying to found some coatlike substance.

"This might help, Potter" there was a woosh sound and Harry's wand hit him in the head.

"Cast a lumos", came Proudfoot's voice after a few minutes.

Harry obliged, his mind was slowly started to function again. What the hell was wrong with him. He had never suffered from this empty headedness at school, had he? He'd never been physically incapacitated with indecision. He snatched up Proudfoot's coat and brought it back.

Proudfoot had meanwhile retrieved his own wand.

"Hand me the blue vial in the left inside breast pocket. And one of the syringes too."

Harry obliged and watched as Proudfoot assembled a needle and inject the blue solution into the beast's neck.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked his brow furrowed.

"Propofol."

Harry squinted his eyes… he hadn't heard of that kind of potion before.

"It's actually a muggle concoction which I have … enhanced. It'll keep him quite incapacitated for the next few hours."

"Probefill" Harry mumbled, and felt himself feel irrationally panicked. This is the level he should be at shouldn't he? He had years of experience fighting Voldemort, while he was at school no bloody less.

"Potter!" Proudfoot broke his reverie, "If you aren't too busy, we still have a perp to bring in."

Harry looked at the portkey ready in Proudfoot's extended hand.

Harry sighed and held onto both the portkey and the unconscious werewolf.

Harry felt an uncomfortable pull at his navel and they were at "the holding cells" of Ministry of Magic. Not Azkaban but a different beast entirely. Located in the lowest levels of the Ministry of Magic, there wasn't a name for these prisoner cells. If there was information that the Ministry needed, prisoners would be taken here. The only entry or exit was through portkey.

Harry had been here once before as part of his induction day after graduating Auror training and beginning his probationary period, they had made it clear he was unlikely to require any services from here and had only made it as far as reception.

Harry looked at his watch and frowned, it was still 8 hours before sunrise and besides the beast was still doped up really good with Proudfoot's potent concoction. As if on queue a heavy snore erupted from the beast. Clearly Proudfoot planned to interrogate the werewolf as soon as possible and was already organising a maximum security cell for werewolves.

He was in deep discussion with a young witch with light brown hair. Harry didn't recognise her, but she was rather pretty. A little _too_ pretty if you asked Harry.

"How long?"

"Hodgkin's is working on it now, sir, but let me assure you that we will be perfectly capable of holding this werewolf and later organising the questioning of this suspect."

"Unacceptable." Proudfoot replied calmly.

"Excuse me?" replied the young witch flushing slightly

"I need an interrogation cell now."

"But how are you going to interrogate him if he's unconscious?!" Harry interrupted somewhat tersely, feeling Proudfoot was being a little unreasonable with the pretty witch.

Proudfoot looked him in the eyes coolly, he patted the right side of his jacket. "Well with the red vial" his tone inferred the "obviously". He looked at the witch, "Pretty please miss, with sugar on top." with a playful pleading voice before returning to his normal voice, "Organise the cell. It needs to be high security, and it capable of holding a werewolf."

"Yes, but-"

"Block B5 - Cell Ax9", came the disinterested voice of the goblin receptionist behind the witch.

She turned to him with narrowed eyes. Clearly not liking to be overridden.

"You're a peach", replied Proudfoot. "Miss", he added tilting his head. If possible, her eyes only narrowed further.

Proudfoot pointed his wand at the werewolf, "Leviosa", and began walking down the corridor to the cells. Harry made an awkward shrug and murmured thanks as he meekly followed.

"What's the urgency with this? I mean we got him right? The hard part is over?" Harry asked behind him. "...Right?"

"Potter aren't you wondering how a hulking, cumbersome, _dumb_ beast like this got the drop on you?" He asked with irritation.

Harry flushed. To be honest he had assumed that he had just managed to screw that up by himself. Then he remembered.

"How were you disarmed by the werewolf?"

Proudfoot became deadly serious and he looked directly at Harry and muttered harshly, "The beast must have been able to cast a furtim spell."

"A stealth spell?", Harry whispered and his eyes widened.

"Shh", Proudfoot muttered, "not the place to discuss this." He cast a furtive look back towards at the pretty witch talking to the goblin receptionist.

Harry furrowed his brow. This was indeed serious. Only top level, undercover auror are taught spells like the furtim. It completely silenced a person's ambient noise and made their use of magic undetectable, amongst other things. The applications for the Ministry's security service were obvious, unfortunately, the nature of this spell meant it required an extremely disciplined mind to cast it, let alone maintain it.

Harry flushed as he remembered his first attempt at casting it. He had strained so hard he farted. It had been devastatingly embarrassing. Thank god Ron hadn't been there.

"How can a were- oof!"

Proudfoot elbowed him in the ribs, hard. He gave him a pointed expression.

Later, Harry understood. But he was a bit doubtful, there were perhaps 5 people in the world who could maintain a furtim spell, would Proudfoot be so proud to claim such a feat of a new born werewolf just because he was taken by surprise. Then he recalled the fight scene. Proudfoot had clearly had a lot of combat experience, it seemed unlikely that he would be taken by surprise. Harry was confused. No wonder Proudfoot wanted to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.

Proudfoot came to the end of the corridor. There was nothing there except a single terminal on the wall.

"STATE THE CELL REQUIRED"

Uhh, Harry's brain responded hazily, something with A wasn't it?

"Block B5 - Cell Ax9", came Proudfoot's confident voice.

"IDENTIFY YOURSELF"

"Proudfoot. Agent KP1019 and two others"

"WAND AND HAND VERIFICATION REQUIRED"

Harry watched fascinated the terminal became a swirling vortex, and Proudfoot stuck his hand, wand and all, inside the vortex.

"IDENTITY CONFIRMED"

Less than a millisecond later there was a blinding flash and a pulling sensation. When Harry could see again, the three of them were in an empty white room. Everything was white except for a similar terminal in one of the walls.

Proudfoot extracted his hand and wand from the terminal and turned to face the room. As if it had been there the whole time a table with two chairs on one side appeared, he mimed that Potter take a seat.

Harry watched uncomfortably as Proudfoot undid the belt binding the werewolf and injected a syringe of red he had just prepared.

"Uhm, are you sure that's wise?"

"Don't say 'uhm', Potter."

Proudfoot took the other seat and waited patiently as he watched the werewolf whose breathing intensified and heckles were now raised. Almost instantly he woke with a howl and began snarling and panting.

Harry's back tensed so badly it hurt but he managed to stay seated.

The werewolf made an attempted leap across the table but a shimmering forcefield materialised forcing him to fall backwards.

Harry visibly relaxed - so that was the secret, there is a forcefield protecting them.

The werewolf shook its head and gave a grunt. He leapt again. And again. And again. Each attempt becoming more aggressive and frenzied.

Proudfoot's eyes narrowed.

"Does this seem like a sentient werewolf to you?"

Harry shook his head.

"Uh- I mean how are you planning on interrogating him?"

The werewolf's pacing became less frenzied, until it came to a complete stop. It turned it's eyes towards Harry and Proudfoot. The eyes seemed much more intelligent now - not the eyes of wild animal. It closed its mouth, and began breathing through its nose and stood taller. Like a hairy, deformed man, Harry thought.

"What the shit is this?" Proudfoot muttered and stood up.

The werewolf's eyes calmly followed the movement.

"You can understand me, can't you?"

The werewolf cocked its head but a second later it suddenly started screaming. A high pitched, wholly inhuman scream. It desperately tried to clasp its head, clawing and cutting its head. It was if it was trying to dig something out of its head.

Harry sprang to his feet as well, "Is it... in pain?!"

The creature ran into the wall of the room, spreading blood all across the white walls.

"Is it a spell?" Harry asked.

"Impossible!" Proudfoot snapped.

"We should help it.", Harry said desperately making a move towards it.

"We can't touch it," snapped Proudfoot, "This room is spelled so noone is capable of physical contact with anyone else."

The creature slammed its skull into the wall with inhuman speed and ferocity causing a nauseating crunch and splattering more blood immediately around it. Its body fell to the floor and its hind leg twitched.

"Is it dead?" Harry asked quietly.

The creature shifted back to its human form, shedding coarse, dirty, ginger hair amongst the blood. With a now concave head, the bloody, swollen and bruised face of Raff was angled towards them, eyes bulging.

"I'd say so," Proudfoot muttered frustrated.

"What the hell just happened," Harry voice uncomfortably high. That had been one of the more disturbing things he had ever seen and he had seen a lot of shit.

"I have no fucking idea." Proudfoot looked to the ceiling and narrowed his eyes.


End file.
